


Novel

by slashmania



Series: 50 Thousand Words (from October to December!) [27]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Arthur's a Wrimo, Eames brings pizza, M/M, Novel, Poor Arthur is flailing around while trying to do NaNoWriMo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:40:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21987529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slashmania/pseuds/slashmania
Summary: “Just come in and murder me now,” Arthur said, still looking up at the ceiling. “I’m already being crushed beneath the weight of all the words I failed to write because I’m a loser.”
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Series: 50 Thousand Words (from October to December!) [27]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1503791
Kudos: 11





	Novel

**Author's Note:**

> Day 27: Novel  
> 652 words
> 
> I wrote this during NaNo when I really wished I could afford a pizza.

_“I think I’ve got a story to tell. Something that no one has ever heard before! And I’m going to start it at the beginning of November, just writing one thousand six hundred sixty seven words a day!”_

Arthur felt that those words should go up on his headstone. No, he didn’t deserve a headstone. He could just let his body decay along with the half-baked characters in his fucked up character graveyard.

Arthur was lying on the floor of his apartment, looking up and the ceiling, regretting his life choices- and even his complaint was derivative of something else. He knew it. He could feel it!

There was a sudden knock on his door.

“Just come in and murder me now,” Arthur said, still looking up at the ceiling. “I’m already being crushed beneath the weight of all the words I failed to write because I’m a loser.”

The door opened and Eames entered. He softly chided Arthur.

“You’re not a loser, love. You’ve had a very shitty month. Let me make you feel better.”

Arthur cracked open one eye and asked, “Are you going to make me feel better with sex?”

Eames laughed. “No, I brought you a large pizza with all the toppings you love the best. I’m here for you. Please remember to chew before swallowing or you’ll choke. What will I tell your mother if I let you choke on pizza?”

Pizza apparently was the magic word. As soon as Eames said pizza, Arthur had got up off the floor, approached the cardboard box that smelled of delicious marinara sauce and cheese that Eames had placed on the kitchen table, flipped open the lid and picked up a hot slice of pizza. He ignored what Eames had said and practically began to try inhaling it on his first bite. Then he slowed down.

Between bites he said, “I don’t deserve you at all. How did you know I needed pizza, Eames?”

“You must have answered your phone in your sleep because when I called earlier pizza was all you would talk about between complaints about how National Novel Writing Month was slowly sucking the life out of you.”

Arthur didn’t remember answering the phone. But he did remember having a dream about a talking marshmallow asking him what his favorite pizza toppings were, and when he woke up he thought it was strange as hell, but didn’t think much more about it.

“You called me Marshmallow, love. It was really sweet.”

Arthur took another slice of pizza but went slower this time. He tried to enjoy the sauce, the melted cheese, and the mushroom, tomato, onion, and olive toppings. He realized that he was sort of crying as he continued to eat the pizza.

Eames wrapped one arm around Arthur’s shoulder as the poor National Novel Writing Month attempter continued to cry as he ate pizza.

“I know, love. I know. It’s all so hard. You started the month with high hopes and a schedule. But maybe you can pick this story up again next year. Or even during the summer when they have that Camp NaNo thing going on.”

Arthur sniffled, didn’t wipe his face because his fingers were covered in delicious pizza grease, and then took the napkin Eames offered to him.

“Do you really think I can do it, Eames?”

Eames pressed a kiss against Arthur’s temple and sighed. “Of course you can. You’re Arthur. You make grown men at the Starbucks tremble in fear when you demand a refill of coffee but happen to be shaking too much from strain and exhaustion. Do you remember the time when they gave you a tip when you organized a bunch of their shit for them so you could try and clear your head a bit and work on the NaNo novel?”

Arthur did smile a little. It had been funny. He even framed the dollar.


End file.
